


A Broken Menorah

by quartetship



Series: ADS Side Pieces [11]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: ADS Side Pieces, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6898813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn't have to be perfect, he told himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Broken Menorah

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another, slightly more abbreviated take on how ADS!Jean & Marco's first holiday season might have gone together. (Originally written and posted last year, finally making its way to AO3 now.)

It didn't have to be perfect, he told himself.

There were a lot of things that Jean worried about in the months leading up to his first Hanukkah spent with family after his mother’s passing. He knew they would ask questions, as they always, _always_ did, and he knew that there were only so many things he could dance around the answer to. Jean had never been much of a dancer, anyway.

But that year was going to be different, and he knew that, many weeks in advance. Not only would he be standing on his own two feet as a man before the relatives that had watched him take his first toddling steps, but he was planning to do it with his arms opened wide to honesty; he was going to tell them about his boyfriend _._ He was going to come out to his very conservative, often _opinionated_ relatives.

He was going to do it by introducing them to Marco.

There was no way they wouldn't love him. That much he was sure of, if they'd only take a little time to get to know him. Marco was undoubtedly the most charming human being Jean had ever come in contact with, and he didn't just think that because they were making fairly regular _contact,_ by that point. He knew that if his family would give Marco even half a chance, they'd be dazzled, just the way he had, when he'd finally opened his heart to him.

But to say that he was confident about his plans would have been an absolute lie.

So much could go wrong, and he was still working so hard on letting go of those kinds of worries. It was still hard admitting that he hated not having control, hated the unpredictability of social situations, and this would be one for the books. Eight consecutive nights of dealing with the fallout of the initial introduction of his _boyfriend,_ to his aunts, uncles and cousins. It wasn't something he looked forward to, and yet he had never been more sure that something needed done, other than perhaps that little moonlit chat he'd had with Marco in an off-campus back alley, months earlier.

So they made plans, and with every step forward, Jean battled his fears and reminded himself that if she were there, his mother would have been first in line to welcome Marco into the family. In her absence, that was his place, and Marco was _his_ to welcome, after all. As December crept toward them, he repeated that like a mantra to himself, reminding himself to stand tall, be brave, and feel the pride he had in himself and in Marco.

And yeah, maybe it didn't turn out entirely perfect.

Maybe Jean’s voice cracked a little on the first night, when he muttered the word ‘boyfriend’ after presenting a cheerfully smiling Marco to his relatives. Perhaps there had been a little chatter amongst his aunts, enough to make Jean nervously drop a lit candle onto the delicate, heirloom table cloth stretched along the windowsill. Maybe Marco unknowingly brought a pork-laden, Portuguese dish to dinner on the second night, turned up late on the fourth with his sweater on backwards after an audition had run over time, and maybe he did break one of the arms off of the menorah when Jean asked him to move it on the fifth night. Maybe nothing went the way Jean had planned, the way he'd hoped that it would; maybe nothing was perfect.

But it didn't matter. Marco was _there._ Even when he came up short, he was _trying,_ trying to understand Jean’s culture, his history, and the place he would have in a future, if they chose to build one together. He was there, every night, smiling through his own anxieties to calm and quiet Jean’s, and never asking anything in return. Marco was there, and for the first time in many months, the big, empty house was full of laughter and music and joy, in no small part because of his presence at Jean’s side.

On the last evening, with the candles burning down and the strings of clear, twinkling lights still casting their soft glow through the windows behind them, Jean bid farewell to his relatives. Farlan and Hitch were the last to leave, insisting on handshakes and hugs from both Jean _and_ Marco before they went. It was a quiet sign-off from a letter run long with the crisp, clear details of memories sure to be etched into Jean’s mind for the rest of his life.

He hoped they would have a place in Marco’s lifelong memory, as well. But he wasn't quite ready to ask about that, yet.

Instead, he settled into the oversized armchair that still sat where it always had in his living room, legs tossed to one side as he patted the bare inches of space left beside him. Marco gave him a lazy smile and nodded, settling mostly in his lap, and snorting a laugh when Jean wheezed and wiggled under his weight. After a moment, they found comfort beside one another, and it was there they stayed, for most of the night, recounting some of the week’s more interesting moments through laughter that nearly brought them to tears.

It was like so many other evenings with Marco – happy, comfortable, warm in every way – but something was unique to that night, as well. Jean felt like he had jumped some sort of hurdle, was standing on the other side of it, chest still heaving, but none the worse for wear. His family _knew_ now, knew about him, knew about his life, and knew about Marco. And even if a few of them expressed something less than support, it was one less thing to worry about. The bubble of his anxiety had popped, and he was left gently floating back to earth, Marco drifting on the breeze beside him.

The morning after the final night of Hanukkah, Jean went Christmas shopping with Marco – something he hadn't done since he was a child. They looked at garish decorations and tree trimmings and cards, and Jean felt a rush of many feelings that he'd long since learned to bury. He knew it would take him a while to be truly _alright_ at the holidays, not to miss his mother, his father, and the life he could have had, had either of them been there to celebrate the coming new year.

But when he arrived home from shopping only to be showered with his boyfriend’s grateful kisses and heartfelt thanks, he realized he hadn't even remembered to thank Marco for putting up with a week of fried foods and his stuffy relatives. When he finally did, Marco assured him that he didn't owe it to him, that he was only doing what he was happy to do; spending the holidays with the man he loved. The way those words sounded falling from Marco’s pretty mouth was enough to make Jean feel _much_ more like celebrating.

Marco never asked Jean to put away the menorah, even as he put up the small Christmas tree Jean had been talked into erecting in his home. The sight of Marco, standing  back to admire his work every few minutes as he happily decorated the tree – _their_ tree – was prettier than any lights or baubles he could have strung onto its branches. It was everything the holidays were supposed to be about, and for the first time in a long time, Jean looked forward to the rest of the season.

Even with a singed tablecloth, a few angry aunts and a broken menorah, with Marco at his side, the light in his heart had never shown brighter.


End file.
